Half the crowd can barely watch, but they can’t cover their eyes and ears at the same time, so the smack of knuckles against lips, again and again, is a sound many of them will never forget.
Doug’s fist pounds Joey’s face, opening him up. Vim lies trapped under Lucas, arms at his sides as he endures the beating. His body bucks and kicks as Doug continues to slam into Joey. Blood flows and splashes both men as Lucas's attack persists.
The crowd gasps at the horrific sight Vim has become at the hands of Lucas. For the first time in the history of fighting at The Dump, the owner considers stopping a fight due to the intense brutality and blood loss. Doug leans in grinding his cast into the open wound on Vim’s forehead.
Vim struggles wildly and pulls his left arm free. Miraculously, he manages to grab Doug’s right hand. Lucas lets out a scream as Vim twists the fingers of the broken hand. Doug falls to the mat holding his aching hand; he nearly pukes from the pain shooting through his right arm.
As Lucas lies on the mat, Vim manages to drag himself from under him. He forces himself to stand, as blood rains down the front of him. Vim stomps the back of Lucas’s head, driving his face into his cast. Doug is dazed as Vim stomps him more, bouncing his head off the mat repeatedly.
Vim is a walking nightmare; his blood-soaked body grabs Lucas around the waist and drags him to the side of the cage. He holds the cast and begins slamming it against the steel bars of the cage, dragging shrieks of agony out of Doug. The crowd is screaming. Vim threads Lucas’s wounded arm through the cage bars, kicking him, trying to break his arm in more places.
Doug is limp. He hangs from the cage by his arm as Vim continues kicking his arm and body. Vim presses his blood-stained thong into Doug’s face pushing him against the cage. He slams his fist to Doug’s face, sending a torrent of blood pouring from his broken nose. “Payback time, Bitch!” Vim yells as he continues to hammer punches down on Lucas.
Vim kicks at Lucas’s cast. causing it to crack and chip. The cast flattens slightly and presses down on Doug’s wrist. Doug's screams grow louder as the support of the cast is gone, and his broken bones twist and grind together.
The crowd is entirely on Vim’s side. They chant—“Fuck him up, fuck him up, fuck him up, fuck him up …” in time to Joey’s bloody punches.
Joey kicks the cracked and soiled cast aside. Doug’s pale exposed forearm smells of unguent, sweat, and some sickly third odor. But the dominant smells in the cage are sweat and gore—both fighters’ sweat and gore. Steam rising off their bright-lit bodies. The crowd smells it, too. Some of them even imagine they can distinguish the separate scents of Vim and Lucas.
(To be continued)